


Harmonize

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Noctis needs physicality after the sorrow of the crystal.





	Harmonize

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “So I was thinking that maybe while in the crystal, It becomes clear to Noct that he is in love with Ignas. I'd like to see him make sweet melancholy love to Ignas at the reunion in Hammerhead. Bonus: I keep having this vision of Noct pulling off Ignas' glasses and lightly kissing his scarred eye, making Ignas gasp and tremble. Not necessary, but would love it if stuck in. Bonus2: Ignas has not been intimately touched in 10 years or is straight up a virgin.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/841.html?thread=16713#cmt16713).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Gladiolus has already left, but Noctis grabs Prompto by the wrist—still covered in a wristband, albeit a different one than he remembers—and tugs Prompto back against him. Prompto grunts but accepts the second hug. Noctis squeezes tight, breathes in the musk of Prompto’s sweat and old cologne, and finally lets go. It’s so _good_ to be home. It doesn’t even matter than the world is ruined. It’s still better than limbo. Prompto wears a sad smile as he retreats after Gladiolus. 

That leaves Noctis to step through the door of the little backroom they’re using to sleep in. There’s one battered mattress pushed against the wall in amongst boxes of canned food and cleaning supplies. It’s pitiful, but it’s _real_. Ignis sits on the bed, and his head lifts when Noctis closes the door. The light isn’t on, but Ignis doesn’t need it. Noctis lets the starlight through the window be the thing that guides him. He walks towards the bed, knowing that Ignis hears every footstep. 

He stops within reach and sheds his cloak. It hits the floor, the rest of his royal suit still on. Ignis’ lips part. His new glasses obscure his eyes, the darkened lenses hiding everything underneath. Noctis can still see the spider-web scar crawling out of them, devouring the left half of his body. Noctis would give _anything_ to take that day back.

Ignis quietly asks, “How long will you be staying?”

Even thinking about it gets Noctis choked up. He doesn’t want to answer. He’s relieved when Ignis clarifies, “Not with us, but _here_, with me tonight.” Then his tongue slips out to nervously trace his bottom lip, and he rephrases, “Ah, assuming you planned to stay. But there is a lot to talk about...”

“There is,” Noctis agrees, though the three of them already talked his ear off in the diner. Or what used to be the diner. “And I want to hear it all. But... tomorrow. Tonight... I was sort of hoping to speak my own piece.”

Ignis tilts his head, then nods and agrees, “I would like that.”

Noctis knows. Ignis has always listened to him, even when he was young, a childish brat whining all the time over things that Noctis would now kill for. He doesn’t know where to start with his new problem. He tries a few times, then takes a seat next to Ignis on the mattress. It’s lumpy and rigid, but Ignis’ hand is warm and soft, and Noctis lets his own close around it. Ignis’ breath hitches. Noctis tries, “I’ve... had a lot of time to think, Ignis. About everything we’ve been through, and about my own feelings... how important certain people are to me... I love all of you. You have to know that. Gladio, Prompto... I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. But... _you_, Ignis... I _love_ you.” It sounds so inadequate when he tries to explain himself in words. He’s been floating in nothingness too long. He missed all of them so much that he can hardly contain himself anymore. But Ignis is different. He squeezes Ignis’ hand and repeats, “I love you. Do you understand?”

Ignis’ face turns towards him. Not completely—he knows that Ignis can’t see him. But it’s enough. Noctis can’t restrain himself. His free hand lifts to Ignis’ cheek, which he cups and carefully strokes, his thumb tracing the softness of Ignis’ unblemished skin and the shallow ravines of scar tissue running through it. Ignis’ breathes, “Noct...”

“Six, Iggy, I’ve wanted to touch you _so badly_...” He can’t explain it, can’t describe it. He still can’t believe that any of this is real. Ignis abruptly pulls out of his grip, looking aside and down at the floor. 

For a split second, Noctis fears he misread all the signs. It’s possible that Ignis doesn’t feel the same deep longing he does, although he’d been sure it was mutual. He remembers how Ignis used to look at him, how Ignis was always there for him, how Ignis would speak to him with such care and adoration. Ignis shakes his head and mutters, “Don’t. I’m not...” He pauses to swallow. “I was never worthy of that. But now more than ever...”

Noctis grabs Ignis again and turns him back, unwilling to listen to that blasphemy. “That’s _not true._” He can hear the tremor in his own voice. “Ignis, I _need_ you. I always have. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. You’re the most compassionate, intelligent—”

“I’m _blind_, Noct. My body is damaged from my head to my—”

“I don’t care. You’re gorgeous. Iggy, I _really_ don’t care. I hate what happened to you, but it doesn’t make me love you any less.”

Ignis looks so bitter. He’s always been a realist, but he doesn’t understand the situation for Noctis: how desperately Noctis needs him. Noctis lets his fingers slide back into Ignis’ hair, soothingly brushing through it before he pulls Ignis towards him.

Ignis lets himself be guided into a chaste kiss. Though Noctis keeps it light, it makes his chest constrict, it fills him with gratitude and _love_. Ignis is impossibly warm, his lips wet and sweet. Ignis shamefully murmurs, “The scars go a long way down.”

“It doesn’t matter. Every part of you is beautiful.”

Ignis still doesn’t seem to believe him. Noctis tenderly pulls away the glasses, folds them and reaches to place them atop the nearest box. When he returns, Ignis’ eyes are closed. Noctis places a lingering kiss against the scarred one. His kisses trail above the lid, reaching Ignis’ forehead, Noctis’ fingers brushing back the messy tangle of bangs that have fallen there. Ignis is trembling. Noctis kisses all the way back down, around the eye and along Ignis’ cheek, underneath his chin. Noctis’ hands start to roam. He traces down the lean line of Ignis’ chest and holds his side, then slowly guides him back.

Ignis allows himself to be pushed down to the bed. He even kicks his own shoes off as he maneuvers his legs onto it—Noctis climbs over him and settles between them. Continuing the kisses, Noctis mutters, “_Fuck_, it’s been so long... I feel so touch-starved... I want you so much.”

Ignis must feel the same. Noctis is sure of it now. Ignis’ hands tentatively lift to his shoulders, then wrap around his back. As Ignis turns his head aside to give Noctis access to his throat, he mumbles, “I... haven’t been intimately touched in ten years...”

In a way, that thrills Noctis—it’s like Ignis was waiting for him. In another way, he’s sad that Ignis was denied that pleasure. He wants Ignis to have been taken care of in every way. He’s here to do that for at least this night. He brings his hands up to the top button of Ignis’ shirt, but he stops to ask, “Can I change that?”

Ignis admits, “I didn’t have much experience before that. If any.”

With a thin smile, Noctis chuckles, “My handsome advisor, still a virgin... I’d find that hard to believe... except I probably should’ve expected it; you were always too busy being dedicated to my life to attend your own.” He does feel guilty for that. He also loves the thought of being Ignis’ first. 

Ignis shrugs against the blankets and sighs, “It simply didn’t seem that important.” Of course it didn’t; he didn’t think Noctis was an option. 

Noctis starts on Ignis’ buttons. He pops them open one by one, allowing Ignis plenty of time to stop him, but Ignis only lies back and lets him. Noctis diverts back to Ignis’ mouth and shares a long kiss before saying, “I brought oil.” The proper kind—he found a small vial of it in the back of the Hammerhead garage. He can only hope it was Cindy’s and not Cid’s. “I hope that’s not too presumptuous...” Ignis shakes his head. “Couldn’t find any condoms though...”

Ignis hesitates, then tells him, “There’s no need.” Noctis brows lift. Though Ignis can’t see the change, he continues, low and hoarse, “I would have you raw. I haven’t had anyone else.”

A grin stretches over Noctis’ face. He gets the last button open and spreads Ignis’ shirt apart, sliding the sides over his taut chest. It’s more toned than Noctis remembers it, lined in evident muscle, hard and rising swiftly with each of Ignis’ laboured breaths. He seems to be just as effected as Noctis is. His body’s flushed in all the right places, milky eyes half-lidded when he dares to open them. Noctis runs his hands freely over Ignis’ perfect body as he notes, “I was sure you were going to scold me.”

Ignis croaks, voice breaking, “I’m just so happy to have you back... I can’t say a bad word about it.”

The feeling is completely mutual. If he had been scolded, Noctis would’ve patiently listened, then still thanked Ignis and asked to continue. Instead, he bends down for another kiss, this one with a bit of tongue—Ignis returns it tentatively, then eagerly. Noctis never wants to let go.

But he needs to be in Ignis. He craves it more than anything—he needs them to be _connected_, as physically close as two mortals can be. He breaks away to focus on Ignis’ belt. When it’s open, Ignis helpfully lifts his legs, and Noctis pulls both pants and boxers cleanly away. Ignis doesn’t protest when Noctis tosses them aimlessly across the floor. Ignis’ hands have started running down Noctis’ body, and he pulls at the buttons of Noctis’ suit like he can’t stand to feel them. Noctis unfastens them himself and sheds his jacket. He pulls his shirt over his head, fiddles with his pants, strips himself down, and kicks it all away. When he comes back into Ignis’ arms, Ignis’ breathing has quickened. Ignis’ hands roam everywhere, squeezing and feeling every soft curve and hard muscle. Noctis moans at each little touch and gives Ignis that moment just to map him out.

He can’t take it for long. His cock’s already stiff, nestled up against Ignis’ stomach, nudging Ignis’ base. He tries not to rut them together too much, because he wants to hold off until he’s _inside_, and it’s already so hard not to come. Just _being_ with Ignis is so deeply fulfilling. He wants more. He wants every little bit of Ignis that he can have. He runs his greedy hands beneath Ignis’ legs and cups his cheeks, kneading them apart. It takes Noctis a moment to fish the lube out of the pocket of his discarded jacket, because he doesn’t want to stop touching Ignis for even a second. As soon as he’s coated his fingers, he’s rubbing along Ignis’ crack. Ignis’ grunts when Noctis grazes his hole. 

Noctis strokes it dotingly, petting it open until it dilates wide enough to fit the tip of one finger. Ignis gasps. Noctis goes slow, worming his way in bit-by-bit, and litters stray kisses across Ignis’ pliant body as he goes. He traces each scar with his lips, stopping here and there to lick at one perked nipple and nose into Ignis’ dark pubic hair. As he kisses his way back up, squirming in knuckle-deep, he orders, “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Ignis just nods. Noctis doesn’t actually think Ignis would say anything, but he should. Noctis would never forgive himself if he hurt the one person he loves most. He’s oh-so-vigilant slotting in a second finger, and he scissors Ignis open as carefully. Ignis twitches around him, whole body shaking. When Noctis has worked three fingers in, Ignis rasps, “_Noct_...”

He knows. He can’t wait either. He makes his way back to Ignis’ handsome face and lines himself up with Ignis’ hole. He applies enough lube that he’s dripping onto the blankets below, but it’ll be worth any mess they make. His tip nudges at Ignis’ puckered entrance. Ignis’ arms wrap around his back. Noctis asks, “Ready?”

Ignis whispers, “I’ve been ready for _years_.”

Noctis couldn’t agree more. He slides gradually in, just a bit at a time, loving the burn and the way that Ignis arches up and moans his name. It’s a glorious moment. Ignis is urgently tight around him, but he still manages to press home without resistance. Ignis shakes and lets out a choked sob—Noctis realizes that his eyes are wet. 

It’s more than Noctis can take. He starts rocking into Ignis, his thrusts languid and tender, while he tries to kiss away the tears. They come too fast. Ignis doesn’t apologize for crying. He doesn’t seem to have any words. But he responds when Noctis kisses him—he fills Noctis up with tongue, clinging and needy. Noctis returns every lick and nibble. They make out as they make love, heartbreaking but natural. 

It feels so _right_. Noctis has never belonged anywhere as much as he does in Ignis’ arms. He twists his hand between them and strokes Ignis in time with his thrusts, using the leftover lube to make it easier. Ignis’ shaft is impossibly hard and hot between his fingers. When he presses his face against the crux of Ignis’ shoulder, he can hear Ignis’ heart racing. It’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever felt.

He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to make love to Ignis for hours, to spend the entire night _just like this_, but he knows neither of them can take it. It’s just all too much. Ignis comes first with a shattered sob and a warm rush of seed over Noctis’ busy fingers. Noctis pumps him out and keeps going, following just a few seconds later. He buries himself deep in Ignis’ body and spills himself there. Filling Ignis up is magnificent. If he could, he’d live in that moment for eternity. 

He slumps atop Ignis, and Ignis latches on to him so fiercely that he doesn’t think anything will ever be able to pull them apart. Except, perhaps, the morning.

Noctis doesn’t ever want to leave. He’s afraid to fall asleep, because tomorrow might be their last, and now he has so much more to lose. Time’s moving too fast. It’s cruel.

But he’s known his fate for the last ten years. And with Ignis by his side, he thinks he’ll finally have the strength to face the dawn.


End file.
